


Someone Who Cares

by stygius



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Explicit Sexual Content, Hair Kink, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Massage, Mentor/Protégé, Praise Kink, Pre-Canon, Touch-Starved, implied past Megaera/Zagreus, mentions of patrochilles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-14 03:54:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28914183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stygius/pseuds/stygius
Summary: "I realize I'm being awfully selfish by even asking you to consider this, but you've always been kind to me, and you're—well, you don't need me to tell you you're handsome, I'm sure, and I just..." He breathes out a little sigh. "Is it so bad to want someone who cares?"Being Prince of the Underworld isn't easy when you're constantly being reminded of all the ways you're not good enough. Fortunately, Achilles is there to show Zagreus he has people who care about him.
Relationships: Achilles/Zagreus (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 43
Kudos: 152
Collections: Hades Rural Dionysia Exchange





	Someone Who Cares

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cryogenia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cryogenia/gifts).



> Zag deserves all the best, and so this got away from me a little bit. Hope you enjoy, cryogenia!

The Prince of the Underworld is distracted, and it shows in his bladework. He is slower to dodge, does not take advantage of the openings Achilles purposefully leaves for him, and his attacks feel like an afterthought at best. Most telling of all is the pinched look on his face every time Achilles thwarts his half-hearted offense; where usually he might laugh or utter some sort of quip before redoubling his efforts, today he appears to get more frustrated as the spar progresses, and this in turn throws him further off-kilter. 

When an easily predictable jab of Achilles' spear knocks his sword out of his grasp, sending it clattering across the courtyard, it's obvious there is no point in continuing. Achilles calls a stop to the training and holds back a sigh as Zagreus blinks at him in apparent surprise, as though lost in thought and only now recalling his surroundings. Then he nods, belatedly, and drops his imperfect fighting stance.

"If you are ever feeling unwell, lad, there is no need to push yourself," Achilles reminds him. "I can't teach you anything if your mind is elsewhere. Simply talk to me and we shall find another suitable time." He makes his voice as kind as he is able, but still Zagreus winces at the reprimand. Achilles thinks of the harsh scoldings he is regularly subjected to, the raised voices that emanate from the administrative chamber and carry to Achilles' ears while he stands guard in the hall. 

"I'm sorry, sir," the Prince says, casting his gaze down. "I don't mean to waste your time. I just can't seem to focus today."

"I'm not angry with you, lad." It is important that Zagreus knows this, and so he pauses to let it sink in, waits until he looks up again. "We have all of eternity to make you into a fine warrior. Or, finer than you already are, I should say. In the meantime, your well-being is my priority, and should likewise be yours." 

Achilles reaches out to grasp Zagreus' shoulder, seeking to reassure him, and it's more than a little heartbreaking the way his ward unconsciously leans into the touch, craving even such a small gesture of affection. Achilles allows it for a few moments longer than he might have intended before gently prompting, "Why don't you go pick up your sword and put it away, and then you can tell me what's on your mind. If it's anything I can assist you with, I promise you I will."

Zagreus gives him a shaky nod, then obediently does as he is told. His shoulders look tense as he returns his blade to its display, and Achilles wonders what could be bringing him such anguish, and resolves anew to help however he can. 

Then the Prince, with his back still turned and his hands now fisted at his sides, utters his request, and Achilles realizes—after the initial, unwise impulse to accept—that he must decline, and that by doing so he is only going to make matters worse. 

"Please face me, my Prince," he asks, telling himself he can mitigate the blow if they are looking at each other. His ward obeys, and there is a nervousness and naked hope in his features that makes it even more difficult for Achilles to speak. But when he hesitates, he sees that look change, and knows that Zagreus has realized the answer without needing to hear it. "I'm sorry, lad. What you ask of me... I'm afraid it would hardly be appropriate."

Zagreus' mouth pulls into a gesture that looks less like a smile than a grimace. "With all due respect, sir, I'm starting to grow weary of what is appropriate." 

There is a bitterness in his eyes that Lord Hades would criticize as willfulness, but to Achilles it reads like nothing other than the soul-deep loneliness that comes from reaching out to those you love for any kind of affirmation and being rebuffed at every turn. Zagreus, who has only kindness and warmth in his heart, deserves so much better than that. Knowing that, Achilles feels his resolve falter, especially when Zagreus averts his gaze and puts on a smile that is as feeble and unconfident as every defensive maneuver he attempted during their spar. 

"I'm sorry, sir. I shouldn't lash out at you. You're one of the few around here who seems to really care for me, so I thought... Well, nevermind. It was a stupid thought." 

"There's no need to berate yourself for such thoughts," Achilles tells him—which is somewhat ironic in the context of his own thoughts, but Achilles has never been good at living by his own advice. Zagreus nods without any conviction behind it, and begins to turn as if to excuse himself, perhaps too ashamed to continue this discussion after being turned down. Achilles stops him with a hand on his forearm. "Hold, lad. I want you to understand why I must say no. I'm a mere shade bound to this House, and you a god, and besides..." 

He trails off without meaning to. Even to his own ears it sounds like a poor excuse. Had he in life let such matters of perceived station stop him from embracing the man he loved? He had not, and surely Patroclus, if he were present now, would laugh at him for hiding behind such absurd reasoning. Whether it is appropriate or not, Achilles can't deny that he finds his ward pleasing in both looks and disposition, and beyond that appreciation he has more than once felt the urge to wrap Zagreus in his arms and chase away his insecurities with the gentle touch he deserves. 

And if Achilles were to be fully honest with himself, he would have to admit that sometimes he has imagined a touch less than gentle, wondering how the boundless energy in Zagreus' handsomely sculpted frame might express itself in passion. But the remembrance of Patroclus' beloved laughter tugs at Achilles' heartstrings and drives him away from such fantasies. 

"Besides?" Zagreus prompts, waiting. 

"Besides, I doubt I could be what you want me to be, lad." He knows he is hedging, and perhaps Zagreus can tell as much, perceptive as he is, for he makes no further attempt to leave; rather, he tentatively places his hand on top of Achilles' on his forearm. Faced with the quiet hope resurfacing in his striking eyes, Achilles tries his last resort. "Please forgive my brashness, but are there truly no others closer to your station who may more adequately indulge you?" 

The moment the words leave his lips, he knows he should not have said them. He was thinking of the Fury Megaera, whose relationship with the Prince has been the subject of many hushed whispers among the shades of the House. Zagreus, clever lad that he is, seems to catch his meaning at once, and lets out a chuckle so devoid of mirth that it is an abomination to hear it from the lips of someone like him, so vibrant and full of life.

"I'm sorry, lad," Achilles says, too late. "I shouldn't have pried. It was not my intention to upset you."

"I just want to be held by someone who isn't under orders from my father," Zagreus says, confirming another piece of the shades' gossip: that the romance between the Fury and the Prince had been orchestrated by Lord Hades in a bid to bring out 'maturity' in his son, by extension terming him childish as he is now and rejecting him anew, and that it had recently ended as abruptly as it had begun. "I know you work for him as well, but this wouldn't be part of your duties, so if you went along with it, you'd be doing it because... because you care about me, in one way or another."

"I do care about you, of course," Achilles assures him, wanting this much to be beyond doubt. 

"I know, sir. And I'm not trying to push myself onto you or anything of the sort. I'm just tired, I think." He looks down at his hand covering Achilles' grasp, then lets it fall. "I realize I'm being awfully selfish by even asking you to consider this, but you've always been kind to me, and you're—well, you don't need me to tell you you're handsome, I'm sure, and I just..." He breathes out a little sigh. "Is it so bad to want someone who cares?"

"No, lad. That is a universal wish, I'm certain."

The Prince smiles, wry but more like himself than the time before. He is undeniably compelling, with a lovely flush that spreads from his handsome face down his neck as he holds Achilles' consideration, but still he does not look away. Achilles takes in the soft curve of his mouth, the brightness of his mismatched eyes, the light sheen of sweat upon his brow. 

Zagreus waits patiently as ever, and though there is clear interest in the way his body is angled towards Achilles', closer than they would stand in normal conversation, his longing is a forgiving sort of desire. Whether Achilles accepts it or not, he has no doubt that Zagreus will never hold his choice against him.

The longer Achilles contemplates the proposal, the more foolish his fears seem. The love of his life is forever beyond his reach now, and was not a jealous man besides—always well-aware, his dear Patroclus, that nobody could ever hope to take his place in Achilles' heart. And it is not undying devotion that Zagreus wishes of him, but the loving touch of someone who cares deeply about him, which Achilles certainly does. What he asks would not be in violation of the terms Achilles signed when he swore his eternal service to the House; surely it would not risk the fate of his most beloved in Elysium, were the Lord Hades to hear of it. Nonetheless, it would be best if he does not.

"This is not a discussion fit for the courtyard," Achilles gently forestalls, certain of that much, and turns to leave. "Come with me, lad, if you please."

He hears the Prince's sharp intake of breath but does not turn to look. Instead, he keeps his sights fixed straight ahead as he walks, and his feet guide him of their own volition to the modest baths reserved for the servants in a remote wing of the House. Zagreus does not speak another word on the way, not even to ask where they are headed, but Achilles knows that he is following, for he hears his fiery feet strike the marble floor with a crackle like sparks flying off flint. 

The baths are blessedly vacant when they arrive, and Achilles pauses outside to register his name in the records, a familiar habit that grounds him in the present. It is not unusual among the servants to reserve this pocket of calm and relaxation for their exclusive enjoyment on occasion, and for a matter such as this it is imperative that he guard against interruption, even if he is unsure of what exactly might be interrupted. Once they enter, he closes and locks the large gold-accented doors after them.

He doesn't know what a dead soul in ill-fated love with another can offer to the god of life, but he is honored that Zagreus would come to him with such a request. In his mortal life he was most of all valued for his anger and his talent for bloodshed; it moves his heart that, when it comes to Zagreus, it is his capacity for comfort that is often sought. 

"Forgive the detour, my prince. Zagreus," he amends, for titles can sometimes create distance and his ward has already endured too much of that. "In the halls of your father's House, there are always those who might eavesdrop. This chamber is the closest thing to privacy I can offer you, though it may be quite humble in comparison to others you may have visited. I thought perhaps we could have a bath to relax, before we progress any further."

The shift in Zagreus' thoughts is plain on his face, from a kind smile to dismiss Achilles' apology about their surroundings to a slight widening of his eyes as he says, "Any further? Sir, I don't want you to do anything just for my sake alone."

Pity would be worse than nothing at all, and Achilles knows it. It isn't pity stirring inside him when he considers the idea now. 

"You should know it's near impossible to sway me to do something I don't want to," he says, unable to keep a self-deprecating edge out of it. But if he's going to do this—and he is, he realizes with sudden clarity—then he owes it to Zagreus to think only of him, for anything else would be a disservice. He smiles at the god and takes a measured step closer, just shy of invading his space. "If you ask for something I'm uncomfortable with, I'll let you know, and I expect you to do the same in turn. But if you're concerned I don't find you attractive, well," he chuckles, "that worry is entirely unfounded. You're quite lovely, you know." 

"Oh." He is even lovelier when he flushes, so obviously pleased with even that simple praise, and a smile lights up his face. 

He reaches out a hand toward Achilles, then hesitates, looking up at him questioningly until Achilles prompts, "Go on." He expects to be touched on his arm or shoulder, pulled closer, but Zagreus brushes back his curls from his face with a look of wonder. 

"I've always wanted to do that," he confesses, quiet enough that Achilles isn't sure he's supposed to hear. 

He is so gentle that Achilles finds himself utterly charmed, and he can't stop himself from tilting up Zagreus' face to kiss him. Careful, at first—it has been so long—but Zagreus practically melts against him, and his hand tightens for a moment in Achilles' hair, and after such a response Achilles is too easily persuaded to let this go on longer than intended. When Zagreus' impossibly warm mouth opens underneath his, he deepens the kiss slowly, encouraged by the sweet sounds the god makes into it. Achilles is taken off-guard by the need that surges inside him in turn, a desire to give Zagreus whatever pleasure he can, to make him feel treasured, and it takes significant self-restraint to make himself pull away before their contact can turn heated. 

"I've wanted to do that, too," Zagreus says, as if any clarification was necessary after that demonstration. He tries to lean in again, but Achilles stops him with a hand on his chin, thumb pressing against the plush curve of his mouth, and Zagreus aborts the movement.

"We should undress, first, for the bath," Achilles reminds him. 

With a shaky nod, Zagreus steps back and starts to fumble with the clasp of his pauldron. Achilles gives him space and starts to undo his bracers, which he sets on a nearby bench. Furniture is sparse in these baths; it amounts to a handful of such benches arranged around the large pool of crystalline water in the center of the chamber, in addition to a rack stocked with scented lotions and stacks of towels in easy reach of the water's edge. 

Achilles unwraps the chlamys around his shoulders and folds it, aware that the not-quite-furtive glances from his ward are increasing in frequency as he removes each successive garment. Still, he can't find it in him to rebuke Zagreus for it. It is not a bother; quite the opposite, in fact. Achilles has never been self-conscious about his nudity, and in life he was accustomed to the appreciative looks it would garner, though he tended to ignore them unless it was Patroclus bestowing that attention upon him. Now, he finds a similarly pleasant thrill under Zagreus' gaze. 

He pretends not to notice the stare until he has stripped down entirely. Then he turns to Zagreus, only to see him with his unbelted chiton half-hanging off his frame and his leggings still on. The god snaps out of his reverie then, and gives him a sheepish laugh. "Sorry, sir. I didn't mean to stare." 

As if to prove his point, he quickly shrugs off the unpinned fabric around his frame and folds it haphazardly in front of himself, his cheeks bright red. A golden leaf pops off his crown of laurels like a spark from a hearth and flutters down to his collarbone. The amber glint of it catches Achilles' eye, and he is struck by how beautifully Zagreus' broad shoulders taper to his delicate waist, and how his muscles shift when he moves to set down the garment. He forces himself to look away, lest he develop a rather visible expression of his appreciation. 

"There's nothing to apologize for, lad. Come to the bath when you're ready." 

He waits until Zagreus nods and smiles back at him before padding to the edge and sinking into the steamy water, feeling himself relax as the heat wraps around him. He sighs contentedly, leaning his back against the side of the bath and closing his eyes. 

Behind him he hears the rustle of cloth as Zagreus finishes undressing and then approaches with careful steps. He seems to hesitate at the edge, and Achilles hears him take a deep breath before stepping in. It's immediately obvious when he does; the water on that side feels warmer after his feet break the surface, and Achilles wonders idly if the flames that light his soles and lick up his calves may be cooled by the bath or raise its temperature instead. He will find out soon enough, either way.

He looks up when he feels Zagreus' gaze boring into him again. There's a line between his brows, but when Achilles meets his eyes, he seems to snap out of whatever preoccupying thoughts are running through his head. 

"What's on your mind, lad?" 

He gives a rueful laugh, looking askance at Achilles through his dark lashes, a look that may have been considered a purposeful seduction if Achilles didn't know it to be a result of Zagreus' self-consciousness. "Just trying to wrap my mind around this, sir. I didn't think you'd humor me, to be honest."

"And you asked anyway." Zagreus nods, laughs again. Achilles smiles. "They do say fortune favors the bold."

"Feels a little _too_ fortunate, if you ask me. I, uh. I don't quite know what to do with myself."

"There's no rush," Achilles tells him, and finds that his own words reassure him as well. For all that he has resolved to honor his attraction to Zagreus, the idea of taking things slow appeals to him. It's been a long time since he was able to enjoy this sort of closeness with anyone, longer still since he last found pleasure unhurried and secluded away from the rest of the world. He reaches out to curve his hand over Zagreus' shoulder, brushing with his thumb the skin where another golden leaf has fluttered down, and Zagreus closes his eyes and takes a shuddering breath. Achilles marvels at the way he trembles under such simple touches, and feels once again the stirrings of desire inside himself. "You're a little tense in the shoulders, lad. I could give you a massage, if you'd like."

"I would." He licks his lips nervously, and Achilles finds his eyes drawn to the movement. "Would like that, I mean."

"Then come here," Achilles says.

Zagreus opens half-lidded eyes and nods. He follows Achilles' instruction as readily as he ever does in their training sessions, and wades through the shallow pool to sit between Achilles' spread knees, where Achilles can best massage his back. In this position, facing away from Achilles, it may be easier for him to relax, but for now he is practically thrumming with anticipation. It makes Achilles a little impatient, too, but he is more skilled at hiding his reactions. 

"At any point, stop me if you don't like what I'm doing," Achilles reminds him, and waits for Zagreus' affirmative, which comes in the form of a sideways look over his shoulder, his throat bobbing as he swallows nervously and nods. 

Feeling that his own mouth has gone a little dry, Achilles nods at him in turn before getting properly started. 

First, he scoops up some of the hot water and pours it over Zagreus' exposed shoulders and back, chasing the water's touch with his own, smoothing his palms down the muscles to wash away the sweat from their training session. Zagreus sighs, and yet another leaf pops off his crown and falls down to drift in the water around them. Soon it is joined by others—gold and crimson and every shade in-between—as Achilles kneads the tension out of his frame, devoting special attention to the spots that make Zagreus lean back against him or hum approvingly. 

On a whim Achilles cards his fingers through the short hairs at the nape of Zagreus' neck and is rewarded with a shiver and a moan. He rubs circles up the sides of Zagreus' neck, enjoying the breathy sighs that escape the Prince at every press of his thumbs. Softly he brushes the spot behind his ear, which puts his hand close enough to Zagreus' laurels that he can feel their heat on his knuckles. Zagreus' breath hitches when Achilles traces the corner of his jaw, and he lets out a shaky laugh. 

"I don't know if this is helping me relax, sir. Rather the opposite, in fact."

"Should I stop?" Achilles asks, just to be sure, though he has a good guess going off of the huskiness of Zagreus' voice.

The response is immediate and expected. "Gods, no. It feels amazing. Your hands... they just feel so much. Keep touching me, please." 

Achilles smiles. "Gladly."

He lets his fingers slide forward briefly to brush the line of Zagreus' collarbone. This elicits another sharp intake of breath, and then he feels Zagreus' hands finding his ankles under the water's surface. Perhaps the Prince just wants to hold onto something—but no, his purpose quickly becomes apparent as he blindly caresses up what he can reach of Achilles' calves. The angle is rather awkward, but when Zagreus shifts his arms to get a slightly wider range of movement, the muscles of his back pull together in a corded column between his shoulder blades, and that is perfect. Achilles aches to touch that knot of tension, but that would impede his view of it, so he presses his hands elsewhere, over the curve of Zagreus' shoulders and under his arms. 

"You are truly breathtaking, you know," Achilles tells him, hearing the awe in his own voice. Zagreus shudders at the praise, a tremor that ripples through his entire frame and further proves Achilles' point.

"I'm glad you think so," Zagreus says, unevenly. 

"I do." A soft whimper escapes Zagreus' lips, and Achilles imagines how he must look—his eyes half-lidded as he leans into Achilles' touch, his mouth parted, his face flushed from the steam of the baths and Achilles' praise. He has always received compliments eagerly, so it isn't strange for him to be further affected by them in this context, and Achilles is determined to find out how much. "I'd wager you look even lovelier when you're worked up like this." 

Zagreus sounds pleading when he says, "Achilles, sir..." He trails off, leaving Achilles to guess what he's asking for. It takes him a moment to realize the note of disbelief buried in the urgency of his voice. As if he's afraid to let himself accept that those are Achilles' true thoughts.

"I'm being honest with you, lad. You've earned every praise," Achilles reassures him, and Zagreus sighs, a little breathy sound of wonder.

Achilles runs his hands down Zagreus' sides, fingers splayed to feel every minute shift of his ribcage as he breathes, a little labored now. He continues downward, hands dipping below the water's surface to reach Zagreus' waist and brush the line of his hip bone. The god's grip on his legs tightens as he gasps.

"Let go of my ankles, lad," Achilles prompts him gently. "I can't very well pull you closer when you're holding on like this."

"Yes," Zagreus mutters, and releases Achilles at once. He lets himself be maneuvered closer so that he is nestled between Achilles' thighs, not quite flush against him but close enough that Achilles can bend forward to press a kiss onto the side of his neck. Zagreus moans under him and tilts his head to the side, baring even more skin for easier access, so Achilles continues his attentions, alternating light kisses and hungrier ones with his mouth parted and lapping at the sensitive spots he finds. 

Zagreus brings up a hand to tangle in his hair, which Achilles is happy to allow, as it does not distract from his task, and it is a tender gesture besides. Then Zagreus says, "Wait, Achilles, let me turn around, sir, I want to see you."

"Alright." He places one last kiss on his skin and retreats, letting his hands fall to his sides. "Position yourself however you would like, then."

This turns out to be practically straddling Achilles' lap. It takes a few attempts to rearrange their limbs underwater in a way that is comfortable for Zagreus to lean over him, a way that is not too punishing for his knees on the tile of the bath. But this repositioning is a good idea, and he tells Zagreus as much—now, rather than imagining the look on Zagreus' face, he can admire it up close, and admire it he does. 

Zagreus leans forward to brush Achilles' unruly curls back, and as he shifts his weight he inadvertently brushes against the unequivocal sign of Achilles' arousal, and his eyes widen, mismatched red and green yielding to his dilated pupils. As if, after all this, he still didn't expect Achilles to be affected.

"I'm dead, lad, not immune," Achilles tells him, smothering a laugh. 

He has only a moment to appreciate the warm flush that has spread across Zagreus' cheeks and down his neck—then Zagreus gives him a grin brighter than the sun itself, and leans in to kiss him. 

The insecurity he displayed earlier is all but gone. He kisses Achilles eagerly, like there's nothing else in the world he'd rather be doing, and it's all too easy to get swept along in his enthusiasm. His hands, at first braced on Achilles' chest, start to travel over his skin, tentatively at first and then quickly gaining confidence when Achilles starts caressing his thighs. He smiles against Achilles' mouth, and breaks away with a giddy chuckle that echoes in the chamber.

"Let me touch you, sir," he murmurs. "Let me feel how much you want me, please."

His eyes are fixed on Achilles', and the cadence of his voice, low and velvety, make his request deeply agreeable to Achilles' cock, which gives an interested twitch. But no matter how badly he wants friction right now, he is determined to tend to Zagreus first. The god of life is generous to a fault, always giving freely of himself without expecting much in return. Achilles is determined to repay him for every kindness, to coax ecstasy from him, until he has only sweet sounds of pleasure to give. 

"Be patient for me a little longer," Achilles tells him, and Zagreus' hand, which had traveled promisingly down Achilles' flank, halts its advance at his waist. "That's a good lad," Achilles murmurs, and kisses him again, slow and deep, to swallow the little whine in the back of Zagreus' throat. When they part, Achilles says, "Now, I'd like to have you sitting on the edge of the bath, with your legs spread, please. You had your fill of looking at me when we were undressing, but I wasn't so fortunate." 

Zagreus laughs hoarsely, seemingly speechless as Achilles turns his head to kiss the corner of his jaw and down to his collarbone, the sensitive spots he had brushed with his fingers before. He gulps audibly, gripping Achilles' arms with shaky hands before nodding, "Yes. Yes, I'll do it, hold on," and he weakly pushes off of Achilles to rearrange himself once more, this time sitting over the edge of the pool. He shivers as he settles there, only his feet still submerged in the water. 

"Cold?" Achilles asks, nudging his knees apart to settle between them. 

"The tile is," Zagreus admits. He has his weight braced on his arms behind him, and it pulls the lines of his abdomen taut from his shoulders to the curve of his hip. He is almost fully hard, despite having received no attention to his cock so far—which, if Achilles has his way, is soon about to change. 

"My apologies, lad. I'll see what I can do to warm you up."

He gets a strangled laugh for that comment, and smiles as he runs his hands up Zagreus' calves, trailing his mouth along the inside of one knee when he realizes the fiery skin doesn't burn. Rather, judging from Zagreus' sigh, the area appears to be sensitive, or maybe that is all of Zagreus at this point. Achilles lingers only for a moment before continuing upward, closer to his goal. 

He means to go slow, to tease and draw things out as long as possible, but with every keening sound Zagreus makes underneath him he finds his own patience dwindling. And, most frustratingly, since he removed his laurels his curls keep getting in his face as he kisses up the inside of Zagreus' thigh, and he has to constantly push them behind his ears so they don't get in his mouth. He can't help the annoyed growl that escapes him the third time this happens, and to his surprise Zagreus moans at the sound and trembles under his touch. 

"Sir, please." He shifts forward on the lip of the pool, opens his legs wider, and his hands again thread through Achilles' hair—which, Achilles supposes, is as good a solution as any. 

"That's good, Zagreus. Hold it back from my face, if you don't mind." 

Achilles glances up to see him looking down with his mouth parted, his pupils blown so wide that his red eye is just a ring of crimson against black. It's more than a little flattering, to see a god so undone by so little, and Achilles doesn't take his eyes off of him as he wraps a hand around Zagreus' cock and strokes him to full hardness. 

If he thought Zagreus was sweet before, it was nothing compared to the sounds he makes now, open-mouthed and desperate and barely recognizable as words at all. Achilles wants to hear more of them, wants Zagreus' beautiful voice to fill the chamber. 

"Hold my hair back, but don't pull too hard," he instructs, punctuating his words with a light nip at the muscle of Zagreus' thigh to make sure he's listening. Zagreus mutters something wordless that he takes as assent. "But if you need me to stop, or pull back for any reason, you can tug on it."

He slows down the touch of his hand and removes it, ignoring the whimpered complaint from above, which turns into a gasp as Zagreus seems to finally realize what he's planning to do. 

"Achilles," he breathes, almost reverent, and he jerks his hips instinctively as Achilles licks up his length, gathering the wetness that has already begun to spill from him. 

"Be still," Achilles instructs, and holds his hips down on the tile with his hands. Zagreus' skin is warm, warmer than any other Achilles has ever touched before. He traces soothing circles with his thumbs on the ridge of Zagreus' hips. "I know you can do this for me. Be good for me, alright?" 

"I'll be good, yes," Zagreus says. His hands feel tense in Achilles' hair, but he isn't pulling, and he doesn't try to rut up again. 

"I have full faith that you will," Achilles tells him, feeling a surge of tenderness in his chest as Zagreus whimpers above him. He is so mindful, so deserving of this and much more, and he has waited for it long enough. Achilles places a quick kiss on his stomach and then curls his tongue around the head of Zagreus' cock, sucking it into his mouth. 

A full-body shiver goes through Zagreus as Achilles starts working him in earnest. Tension gathers in his hips, building as Achilles laps and sucks, but he remains perfectly still, letting Achilles set the pace. He is heavy and warm on Achilles' tongue, human and divine all at once, and every tremor and moan that escapes him strikes a resonant note inside of Achilles. Though shades do not have a pulse, in those moments Achilles' soul forgets that he is dead, and he can hear his heart pounding in his ears as his own arousal builds. With the god of blood in his mouth, moaning Achilles' name in his pleasure, Achilles feels real, alive.

Zagreus' hands tug gently at his hair. "Oh, Achilles, sir, I'm so close, I can't—" 

Of course he is polite even in this moment, but Achilles' blood is singing, and he cares little for restraint at this point. Knowing Zagreus will not push forward, he lifts a hand from his hip to grasp his forearm, to reassure and encourage him, and then forces himself to take Zagreus deeper, eager to push him over the edge. He can't talk like this, but he hums the two words on his mind around the fullness of Zagreus' cock: _good lad_.

As if Zagreus understood his meaning somehow, the tension in his muscles draws taut, and then it snaps; he cries out, " _Achilles_!", and the name dissolves into a keening moan as he comes in Achilles' mouth. He abandons himself to his pleasure, and Achilles is struck with a desire to worship him, to devote himself to this moment entirely. He works the god through his orgasm, swallowing most of the load and running light caresses up and down his thighs to ground him as he goes limp and pants above Achilles, utterly spent. 

"It appears I was right," Achilles tells him, unable to stop grinning with the fierceness of the vitality that Zagreus has instilled inside him. "You do look gorgeous in pleasure. And you feel even better."

Zagreus chuckles weakly and brushes his fingertips along Achilles' scalp, seemingly too wrung out to attempt words. Achilles gives him time to collect himself, bestowing a soothing touch on him despite the urgency of his own need.

"Help me get back in the water, sir," Zagreus says at length. 

His arms are shaking still as he braces his hands on Achilles' shoulders. Carefully, Achilles lifts him slightly off the edge so he may sink back into the pool. When they're at eye level again, Zagreus kisses Achilles, slower than before but no less intent. He rocks his hips forward and Achilles' erection slides along the curve of his stomach, making Achilles gasp. 

"Can I touch you now?" Zagreus asks, pressing a kiss to the corner of Achilles' mouth. His hand is already snaking down between them, and it's Achilles' turn to shiver in anticipation.

"Please do," he whispers, and, "yes," as Zagreus' warm fingers find him underwater and wrap around his shaft. Just that simple contact already sends fire along his nerves, and he knows he isn't going to last long. But, perhaps he doesn't need to. _Let me see how much you want me_ , Zagreus had asked of him before, and yes, that's exactly what he's about to do.

As soon as Zagreus starts stroking him, Achilles braces his hands on the edge of the bath, trapping Zagreus between his arms, and then he begins to rock his hips, fucking into Zagreus' grip fast and hard, chasing his release. He hears Zagreus' breath catch, and gets a glimpse of the look of rapt adoration on his face as he adjusts his hand to give Achilles even more friction. Achilles wants to hold that gaze, but it's too much, too fast, and he scrunches his eyes shut as he keeps climbing that peak.

And then he hears that Zagreus is talking to him, voice soft and encouraging and so warm that Achilles is reminded of someone else entirely—Patroclus chuckling at him in a much similar situation, the two of them rutting urgently against each other inside their tent, seeking their pleasure as quickly and explosively as it could come. That memory overlaps with the present fondness of his Prince praising and urging him now, and Achilles feels as though they are both with him, another minor miracle this god has bestowed upon him, and he feels tears come to his eyes. 

"Zagreus," he hears himself whimper, his voice pinched high with desperation.

"Gods, you're incredible," Zagreus says, and from the sound of his words alone Achilles can picture the smile on his face. "Is this good for you, sir? Please, Achilles... I want to see you come."

Those words pull at his core, and he can't resist their demand. With a shudder and a cry dedicated to both of his lovers, he comes into Zagreus' fist, spilling his load in the warm water. 

It's fortunate that the baths are divine and purge all impurities on their own, he thinks, letting out a hoarse laugh as the daze of his orgasm starts to lift. Zagreus is petting his side and nuzzling the hollow of his collarbone, and Achilles laughs again, wraps his arms around the god and moves to rest together against the edge. It takes him a few moments to catch his breath, and he spends them looking at the golden and crimson laurel leaves that dapple the surface, glinting in the low candlelight.

"Thank you, sir," Zagreus says, cuddling against Achilles with a contented little sigh. "I really needed this."

"I think I did as well," Achilles admits. He presses a kiss to the top of Zagreus' head. 

"Let's stay like this a little longer, sir, if you don't mind. Just... just in case this doesn't happen again."

Achilles draws in a sharp breath. His ache for Patroclus remains, as much a part of him as his infamous rage or his martial skill, but Zagreus is a beautiful reminder of all that is good in this cruel afterlife, and Achilles doesn't want to let go of him just yet. If Patroclus were here, he thinks, he would reassure Zagreus with his touch and whisper beautiful promises into his skin. In Patroclus' absence, Achilles does the best he can to provide that, to make Zagreus feel loved as he deserves.

"It could happen again," he offers, tightening his embrace momentarily. "If you ever want it to."

Zagreus pulls back to look at Achilles, then smiles, so handsome and full of joy it makes Achilles' heart ache, and he's happy to let himself be pulled into a kiss.

When they part he says, "I'd like that very much, sir. Achilles." Then Zagreus relaxes against him, lulled by that affirmation, and Achilles does not push him away.


End file.
